ance.

"Really!" he protested irritably, "you reporters butt in everywhere. No
public man is safe. Is there no place we can go where you fellows won't
annoy us?"

"You can go to the devil for all I care," said Philip, "or even to
Pittsburgh!"

He saw the waiter bearing down upon him with the imitation cocktail,
and moved to meet it. The millionaire, fearing the reporter would escape
him, hastily changed his tone. He spoke with effective resignation.

"However, since you've learned so much," he said, "I'll tell you the
whole of it. I don't want the fact garbled, for it is of international
importance. Do you know what a Velasquez is?"

"Do you?" asked Philip.

The millionaire smiled tolerantly.

"I think I do," he said. "And to prove it, I shall tell you something
that will be news to you. I have just bought a Velasquez that I am going
to place in my art museum. It is worth three hundred thousand dollars."

Philip accepted the cocktail the waiter presented. It was quite as bad
as he had expected.

"Now, I shall tell you something," he said, "that will be news to you.
You are not buying a Velasquez. It is no more a Velasquez than this hair
oil is a real cocktail. It is a bad copy, worth a few dollars."

"How dare you!" shouted Faust. "Are you mad?"

The face of the German turned crimson with rage.

"Who is this insolent one?" he sputtered.

"I will make you a sporting proposition," said Philip. "You can take it,
or leave it. You two will get into a taxi. You will drive to this man's
studio in Tate Street. You will find your Velasquez is there and not on
its way to Liverpool. And you will find one exactly like it, and a dozen
other 'old masters' half-finished. I'll bet you a hundred pounds I'm
right! And I'll bet this man a hundred pounds that he DOESN'T DARE TAKE
YOU TO HIS STUDIO!"

"Indeed, I will not," roared the German. "It would be to insult myself."

"It would be an easy way to earn a hundred pounds, too," said Philip.

"How dare you insult the Baron?" demanded Faust. "What makes you
think--"

"I don't think, I know!" said Philip. "For the price of a taxi-cab fare
to Tate Street, you win a hundred pounds."

"We will all three go at once," cried the German. "My car is outside.
Wait here. I will have it brought to the door?"

Faust protested indignantly.

"Do not disturb yourself, Baron," he said; "just because a fresh
reporter--"

But already the German had reached the hall. Nor did he stop